


Exilium

by Espereth



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Collars, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gaslighting, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Neck Kissing, Necks, Past Abuse, Rape/Non-con Elements, magephobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-20
Updated: 2016-07-20
Packaged: 2018-07-25 15:36:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7538338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Espereth/pseuds/Espereth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hawke gives Anders a collar to wear.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Exilium

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer... I'm only partway through DA2 and my Hawke is friends with Anders. My knowledge of DA canon and Anders' rivalry romance is quite lacking but this just kind of fell out of my brain so I apologise for any errors.

Anders held Hawke's latest 'gift' in one hand, staring at it. "So this is what it's come to," he said, meeting the rogue's amber-brown eyes. Justice woke inside him, threatening to flare at any moment. _How dare he? How dare he give you such a thing?_ Anders took long, deep breaths to calm him. 

"Don't you like it?" Hawke's face fell in mock sorrow. He turned his back on Anders and strode to the window of his bedchamber, looking out over Hightown in the late afternoon sun. "I thought it was pretty." 

Anders' chest burned with hurt and anger as he examined the steel collar. The sunlight was fading, and he rose from where he'd been sitting on Hawke's plush bed to look at the object in firelight. He recognised the device's function from the symbols inscribed on the metal in the glow of lyrium-white. The Templars had used such things in the Circle on apprentices whose behaviour displeased them. For their own safety, the story went; the collars were for youngsters whose use of magic had made them a danger to themselves or others, but who could still, with the proper instruction, be brought in line. But in Anders' experience the devices were used as punishment for all kinds of indiscretions, even those unrelated to magic. Impertinence. Disobedience. Having a mind of one's own. 

Anders' fingers traced the inscription on the collar. EXILIUM, it read. Exile. Cut off from the Fade, the wearer would be unable to perform magic, no matter how hard they reached for it. It was terrifying, especially for a child - a sensation not unlike drowning. The first time they had done it to him, Anders had felt sure he was going to die. 

The collar Hawke had placed in his hands was not child-sized, though. This one was made for an adult, and was oddly ornate. Soft black leather lined the steel collar, intended to wrap around the wearer's throat in what looked like surprising comfort - even trimmed with a thin strip of silver fox fur to rest against the collarbone. The buckles were finely wrought, attached and constructed so as not to rub against skin. The metalwork was strong but delicate. Deep red sunstones glowed in the firelight, set between the lyrium etchings. If a symbol of slavery could be beautiful, Anders supposed that this one was, designed and detailed with care in red and silver and black. 

_Templar colours,_ spat Justice. _Templar chains. How dare he._

Anders raised his eyes from the elaborate collar to took at Hawke, who was lounging against the windowsill with his ankles crossed, the last of the sunset behind him. The rogue's eyes were narrowed in amusement. 

"You distrust me so much," Anders said. "You'd have me collared?"

"Only here," Hawke said, smirking. He indicated the lush interior of his bedchamber. "You're too useful to me to wear it all the time. Much as I'd like that." 

"So this is some kind of fetish," Anders said, thumb running over the soft fur trim. It did look comfortable, as far as a collar could be comfortable. "Where did you even get such a thing, Hawke?"

"I'm a smuggler." Hawke grinned, teeth flashing white against his thick, dark beard. "If I want something, I find it. And I take it." He locked eyes with Anders for a long moment. Anders felt the familiar tightness in his chest, the urgent, constricting press of his cock hardening against his trousers, the electric burn of fear-desire-anger. Hawke rose from the windowsill to join him at the fireside, walking slowly. Anders' gaze drifted over his lean body, watching the arrogant way he held his shoulders and cocked his narrow hips. Hawke reached Anders and cupped his cheek, thumb tracing his rough-shaven jawline. Anders closed his eyes as his face was tilted, his throat exposed for kisses. "I went to a lot of trouble to get it," Hawke murmured, the low rumble of his voice against the crook of Anders' neck. "Don't you think it's beautiful?"

 _No craftsmanship will change the ugliness of this thing,_ Justice declared.

Fingers traced Anders' throat, from the stubble under his jaw to the base of his collarbone. A warm tongue-tip followed, leaving a trail of cool that made goosebumps rise all down his spine. Hawke wrapped both hands around Anders' neck, gently pressing his thumbs against the hollow of his throat until Anders gasped in pain.

"I can't wait to see you in it," Hawke murmured against his neck, sending shivers through Anders' body. The image surged in Anders' mind, of himself, naked except for the collar, head bowed, kneeling at Hawke's feet. 

_No,_ Justice protested inside his mind. _Mages are not slaves. Tell him. Tell him you will not wear it._

Anders swallowed hard and rested his head against Hawke's chest, struggling for control, until Justice was still. When Anders spoke, his voice came out in a hoarse whisper. "You like to have me powerless."

Hawke growled and grabbed him, seizing him by his hair and bending his head back. Hawke's tongue thrust into Anders' mouth, dark beard scratching his lips and chin. Anders' head spun. He heard his own voice coming in moans and gasps, of fear and pain, pleasure and arousal. He could hardly breathe. His cock was rising, harder and harder, his body ready in an instant, as always. Ready for Hawke; for whatever he wanted. He kissed back, hands through Hawke's dark brown hair and down his slender back. Soon he found himself pushed backwards, back against the stone wall. Hawke was not a big man, but he was strong, and knew how to use his body weight. Anders' back touched cold stone and he leaned into the wall, as though trying to anchor himself to something real. The rough kiss lasted until Justice flared again, doubting, warning him. _This way brings pain. This man brings pain. You must stop this._

He groaned as Justice gained the edge in their internal struggle. "You're disgusting," he heard himself say, his voice warped, demonic. He wasn't sure who had said the words - or even who they were directed at. 

Hawke pulled back to hold him at arms length, smirking. _I told you so,_ his eyes said. _You are dangerous._ They'd had the conversation before - many times. It wasn't fair, Anders thought. How could he not understand? Everyone got angry. Anyone could lose control - not just a mage. 

"So, you'll wear it?" Hawke said, reaching to take the collar from his hands; but Anders moved it aside, out of reach. Hawke's eyes narrowed. He hated to be contradicted or denied something he wanted.

Justice burned inside Anders, even as the spirit subsided, letting Anders regain control. _Your anger is righteous,_ Justice said. _This man Hawke spares no thought for others. For you. Does he not know what you've been through? How can he ask this thing of you?_

"Did it occur to you that I might have had this done to me by the Templars?" Anders said. " _This_ -" - he clenched a fist around the collar as he held it up - "this might be a game to you, something exciting to try in bed. But did you not think how it might be for someone who's been abused? That it might feel degrading - even terrifying - to wear this?" Anders' voice shook as he spoke. Hawke _would_ see sense. He just needed to understand. "There is a line of reasoning that says that cutting off a mage from the Fade is torture. I do not find it an unreasonable argument." 

"Is it torture to restrain a dangerous man?" Hawke said. "Perhaps you should try to see it from the Templars' point of view. You mages have a power that they don't. What happens to them when you lose control? It's no wonder they feel threatened." He stared into Anders' eyes, with that penetrating look that made his stomach flip and his heart pound. Maker, those eyes! They haunted him in his dreams, woke him in cold sweats of terror and desire. Hawke's voice lowered almost to a whisper, and he gripped the collar of Anders' coat. "I don't like being threatened."

"Threatened?" Anders felt his brows knit in confusion. "When have I ever threatened you, Hawke?"

"You don't remember telling me that everything I say makes you want to wring my neck? That you didn't know whether to kiss me, or kill me?" Hawke's eyes never wavered. "How do you think that makes me feel, coming from a mage - from someone with your kind of power?"

Anders blinked in disbelief. Justice burned quietly, but seemed too stunned to contribute. That argument had been weeks ago. Anders had been trying to make Hawke see sense about the Circle - about its true function, rather than its stated ideals. Hawke's hatred was born of fear, Anders thought. Hawke was a rational man. If only he could understand the facts, he would be sure to agree.

But Hawke had not mentioned their discussion since. Anders had thought nothing further about those heated comments. Hawke was right, though; he shouldn't have made them.

"I'm sorry, Hawke," he said. "I wasn't being literal, but I can see why what I said would upset you. I won't say anything like that again."

Hawke raised his chin, clearly pleased at the apology. "You must remember telling me you're 'not always a gentle man', too," he said. "And to watch out for what's inside you. Remember that? Do you ever think that people might not feel safe, when a mage says something like that?"

"Hawke, I meant that as a warning," he said, "not a threat. About Justice. I warned you because I care about you. Sometimes I can't understand why - with some of the things you say to me. But I do care. Surely you know I'd never hurt you intentionally."

"And this way, you won't attack me accidentally, either," Hawke said softly, reaching to take the exilium collar from his hands. This time, Anders let him.

"I suppose you're right," Anders said. Even Justice subsided, turning inward with the spiritual equivalent of a thoughtful frown. Guilt set in. Hawke made everything sound so reasonable. Sometimes Anders thought he was going mad, the way his head got tangled up like this. 

"You used to trust me enough to bring me along when you needed a healer," Anders said, a little resentfully, fingering the shining lyrium inscription burned into the steel of the collar. "Does this mean you won't want me on your jobs any more?"

"I may need you yet. You're still useful to me," Hawke said dismissively. He unbuckled the collar, deft hands working the complex mechanism.

"Thanks," Anders told him, rolling his eyes.

"Watch your tone," Hawke whispered, and took Anders by his shoulders, spinning him around to face the wall. Anders pressed his palms against the stone, drawing from its strength. Hawke's mouth was at his throat, his earlobe, the line of his jaw. A hard thigh spread Anders' legs. Hands reached around him, found the fastenings on his coat and pulled it open. He heard the soft clink as cold steel brushed his neck.

"You don't have to wear it," Hawke murmured against his ear, and Anders felt his shoulders relax. _There,_ he thought to Justice. _He is fair-minded._

"I'll - I'll try it," Anders whispered. "If it helps you feel safer." The situation was Anders' doing, anyhow. He had said those stupid things to Hawke. Hurtful things. And anyway, how bad could it be? It was only temporary. Just while they made love. If it was truly unbearable, Anders could say so. Hawke would let him take it off... He hoped. Without magic, Anders would easily be overpowered. He wondered what would happen, if he tried to take the collar off without Hawke's permission.

 _If he was a good man,_ Justice said, _you would not need to pose such a question._ But the voice of the spirit was weak, as though he already sensed that he had lost. Anders sensed that he would hear no more from him tonight.

Hawke _was_ a good man, Anders thought. Better than he deserved, at any rate.

Gentle fingers pulled Anders' forehead back from the wall, and Anders tilted back his head. Hawke slipped the collar around his throat, snapped it closed, and the Fade was gone.


End file.
